Like two boulders they clash, but the crimson steed is lean and athletically powerful in contrast to his opponent’s bulky, thick build. Because of this, his hooves are the ones to slide within the thick substance, and though they are caught at a near-stop, he is the one leaving gouge marks from the initial impact. His left shoulder aches fiercely from slamming against him, left ribs throbbing as his breathing leveled, but still sounded wheezy and almost desperate. They’re pressed so close together, it makes his pale features crumple in disgust. It would take years to get the mutt’s smell of his coat, did he know how many dips he would have to take in the hotsprings?! Did he not know how bad that was for his coat?! This was not what he was thinking of when he envisioned a mud treatment.

How the massive mutt manages to drop his...bodacious booty away from his horn is beyond Tolio. Had he been a unicorn, maybe he would have appreciated the view. Even so, mercury eyes are deflected from the view, unable to see what the steed is doing, feeling only the jerk and pressure upon his cranium as his horn slices through skin. Solid it may be, it still puts weight on his head as he jerks it through the mutt’s hide. That was sure to be one helluva headache. Their shoulders are no longer locked, he must have moved to the right, towards the North-Eastern borders. Tolio isn’t complaining, his ribs in fact are wildly praising this new development. He hurts, he aches, everything twinges no matter how he moves. It only makes his mind sharper, the pain forcing him to focus. Do not let him win, Tolio. You are better than him, above him, he is not worth anger that will only injure you further. One good blow from those massive hooves and he’d have to be helped out of the Edge territory.

Everything is loud in his ears, the squelch of mud that they churn with their hooves, one feathered and one slim. It only makes it worse, slicker than a sweaty behind on a Tallsun day. And Tolio had done his fair share of rump rustling. The darkly coated, massive steed lurches away, and he suddenly doesn’t look like a titan in size any longer. Then again, Tolio is taller regardless of mass, maybe it was the battle influencing how he viewed things. Like a wolf after a rabbit, Tolio does not want to let him get far. Lunging after him, horn pointed like a compass towards the Western side of his homeland far in the distance, he nearly meets a hoof in friendly greeting. To the face. With the power of a sledgehammer. Right to the schnoz. Of course, instinct kicked in- ha, he really cracked himself up sometimes, but his ribs hurt too much to laugh- and he saved his beautiful face by sliding his hindquarters low, low, low beneath his long body. He slides, legs coated in mud from pastern, to cannon, to hock. Breast rises, head flings back towards the south, but there’s no stopping when they’ve trampled the mud and slickened it into a death trap.

Like a freight train, Madyrn’s hooves slammed into his right breast and the steed’s right hoof skimmed and scraped like a dull knife over the point of his right shoulder. It knocks him back, long legs stumbling and sliding so as not to go end-over-end backwards. For the second time, his breath leaves him. Was that his heartbeat, in his head? He could have sworn the expression was supposed to be ‘think with your heart’ but was it truly so literal? Damn, he didn’t ever want to follow it if these were the consequences.

Vision blurred and dizzied, flickering, he only saw the motion of movement as Madyrn hobbled away as if he’d rammed his horn into a...different place. Oh, but Tolio was of fleeter foot than that hulking monstrosity. He could only dream of being as quick as Tolio. Bare, slim hooves drew him forward- dear god where was he going oh shit just aim for the big black thing that’s moving- and advanced towards the brute on light steps, the thicker foliage-mud-combo only aiding him in chasing after the hobbling hunk. Ew, no, not a compliment. He may have hesitated, and he may be practically blind in pain and lack of oxygen, but he lowered his head and jerked forward as quickly as his hooves could carry him, sucking in air harshly, horn aimed for the juncture of Madyrn’s left crest and withers, to match the slash on his thigh.

Might as well favor a side, huh?


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Word Count: 800
Post: 4/4

Great fight Whitticker~! ;D <3